Bat Out of Hell
by awordycontradiction
Summary: Lydia ran off to chase another ghost, and Stiles watched her go.


**Okay so I really needed to write this, I already wanted to, but after I posted the last chapter to my story, Divergence, I realized that I bummed everybody out.. and I'm really sorry. If any of you read it, it wasn't meant to be so sad, honest. I didn't think that it would be practical for them to end up together just yet, (mostly because I can't bare to go off base with characterization) and especially because of Allison and stuff.. and I guess I didn't really articulate it every well. Story of my life. **

**But, I think this scene that I'm writing about is my favorite Stiles and Lydia moment to date. so I'm really sorry if I upset you! I wanna make it better! lol**

Stiles watched Lydia go. It was something that would never change between them. She was always a step ahead. It didn't matter if it was something school related or if it had to do with something of the _supernatural_ caliber. Even in a heated argument, she always knew what he was going to say, what move he'd make before he made it.

So he watched her her leave. Propped on shaky elbows, with the small amount of strength he acquired from his_ manly_ fainting spell, he caught the last flourish of her dress before it was swallowed by the darkness. The pale moonlight that broke through the dirty glass was coveted by a surprisingly fast teenage girl.

Scott called after her, confusion and fear heady in his voice. Even if they just defeated the nogitsune, watched a painfully tragic version of Stiles crumble to the floor in a cloud of dust, that didn't mean it was over. Was it _ever_ really?

Sliding into a sitting position, Stiles tried to mask his groans. He didn't want Scott or Kira or even Isaac, as uninterested as he always seemed, try and stop him. There was something in Lydia's eyes, it was crystal clear to Stiles. Whether it had to do with the furtive connection he always believed they had, or the overwhelming ability to just _know_ Lydia, Stiles understood beyond reason that something terrible happened.

He clambered to his feet, wobbly. Swallowing his pain in choked gruff, Stiles followed. He'd follow her anywhere, actually. But for now, out of the school seemed feasible enough. He had just spend one of the worst nights of his life in Lydia Martin's arms. She carried him through and stood beside him, knowing what kind of danger they were in.

He woke up earlier that evening to the sound of her sobs against his ear, knowing that instead of running to help her best friend, she stayed with _him_, when Allison was about to die. Stiles didn't think he deserved her friendship.

Scott didn't argue with him when Stiles limped to the double doors. They closed hard with a thud behind him. The wind had picked up since they entered the high school earlier on. It was colder now, and a chill went up Stiles' spine as a sinking feeling plagued his heart.

With a purpose Stiles was still deliberating on, he darted quietly towards her. Lydia's heels appeared glued to the cement. One hand was wrapped tightly around the guard rail and Stiles worried she was about to run down towards the lacrosse field.

He dragged his tired body forward, only stopping when he was close enough not too frighten her. It was like slow motion to Stiles, but it only took seconds for Lydia to see what she needed to. She reeled around, catching Stiles off guard with her speed, but not all that surprised herself to find him standing there.

It was him she ran to, like a bat out of hell.

She flung herself into his chest and as startled as Stiles was, he wrapped his arms tightly around her as they swayed momentarily in place. He was desperately trying to shield Lydia from the twisted lives they lead. With her head tucked into his shoulder and her strawberry blonde waves tickling his neck, Stiles had perfect visibility. He could see the scene below them, dark figures hunched over a body. He closed his eyes and cradled her closer.

She was different than him, but Stiles always knew that. Lydia ran off to chase another ghost, and Stiles watched her go. The feeling of being the one to comfort her wasn't exactly new to Stiles. Ever since the school year started there was signs of their friendship blooming. The intimacy was a definite part of it.

He whispered to her, as she fought to control her breathing. He said he was _sorry_, he said it would be _alright_. Stiles knew it wouldn't, and that sorry wouldn't bring back Allison or Aiden – who he could see now, when the figures moved out of the moon's way.

When her first tear fell, and he could hear Lydia try to swallow it down, squeeze her eyes closed, not to appear so weak, _he_ could feel everything she was trying to hide. Despite what she said, Lydia did care about the haphazard twin.

Sooner than expected, Stiles felt the presence of the others. He knew they'd follow. But he couldn't be bothered answering questions or thinking too much into what it all meant. The display was reminiscent. The irony cynically bold.

Just like that, Stiles was yanked backwards in time – something that really didn't seem all that impossible anymore.

He was nursing a cut lip and a black eye, freezing to the bone, inside a dark and dirty warehouse. There with a chip on his shoulder and a lizard sized dent on his jeep, Stiles was helpless to watch as the love of his life raced into another man's arms. He would never forget the feeling of not being worthy. Wanting nothing but to comfort her when he wasn't even a second choice. Stiles would never forget that Lydia didn't trust him.

It was like he could feel the ghost of Allison behind him as he retreated to stand behind Scott – her big brown eyes filled with a pity that never bothered him as much as it should have. Just some tired kids, broken and bruised, thankful that the _worst_ was past them.

But they weren't_ those _people anymore. Innocence was finally ripped completely from their fingertips. They were alive, but for how long? Fighting fate was exhausting and the magic that once left Stiles starry eyed ran its course.

Lydia brought him back in more ways than one. And she did it again as her tiny fists bunched under his plaid shirt, drawing herself as physically close as two people could get. He let her. Though the connection ran deeper than chilled skin and feverish hearts.

When she had enough energy to move away; when the first sign of police lights danced across her face and Stiles pulled thin strains of strawberry blonde hair away from her big green eyes, he saw something there that Stiles never expected to. It took half a year, a demon to possess him and for hell to finally freeze over. But, as he held Lydia Martin in his arms, soothing her pain like he always wanted to, Stiles knew that whatever his past self wanted from her, that little boy with a crush too big to carry was gone.

This was different, this was real.

It was a bit too powerful for words, and the timidly wan smile Lydia was giving him proved it. But, Stiles knew it was all going to be okay. There might be a hundred more monsters to battle in the future, a hundred more tests to bomb. Looking into Lydia's eyes, seeing a girl who not that long ago had her walls too tall to see over, Stiles knew that what they had was special, that everything was going to be okay.


End file.
